


In Mysterious Ways

by 2spooky4u, your mom (2spooky4u)



Category: Supernatural
Genre: All of the angels are a big stuck up pure blood family lol, Alternate Universe - Harry Potter Setting, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Hogwarts, Alternate Universe - Magic, Alternate Universe - Teenagers, Alternate Universe - Wizards, Bullying, F/F, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Gryffindor, Hogwarts Fifth Year, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, Human!Castiel - Freeform, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, No Harry Potter Canon Characters, Quidditch, Racial slurs, Racism, Slow Build, Wizard!Castiel, Wizards, also the Impala is a snazzy broomstick., prefect!Dean, prefects, wizard errbody, wizard!Sam
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-23
Updated: 2013-12-12
Packaged: 2018-01-02 11:09:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 5
Words: 13,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1056064
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/2spooky4u/pseuds/2spooky4u, https://archiveofourown.org/users/2spooky4u/pseuds/your%20mom
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean Winchester's fifth year at Hogwarts, as well as Sam's first, quickly turns into a whirlwind of mystery, friendship, discovery, and danger after Dean finds out that maybe they aren't as Muggle born as they seem, and that someone wants both boys dead. </p><p>As Dean finds himself drawing closer to a shy, quirky Ravenclaw with his own family secrets, he will have to face truths about himself and his entire life that will come to change everything.</p><p>And as if that wasn't enough, it's OWL year, Gryffindor's Quidditch team needs some major improvements, and Dean can't seem to stop losing his homework and running into his ex.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prefect Timing

**Author's Note:**

> Important note: I set this fic roughly now, even though they are teenagers, and a decade or two after the events in J. K. Rowling's novels. There are mentions of the characters every once in a blue moon, but as they never actually interact with anyone in the SPN 'verse, I don't count it as a crossover. I've just taken the lovely Ms Rowling's universe and given it an organ transplant, as it were. 
> 
> Any tweaks to the canon Hogwarts universe, like to the prefect system or things like that, are minor. (There are ten prefects: four 5th years, four 6th, two 7th who aren't head boy and girl) I've justified the minor shifts to the time difference, and that there is a new headmaster and all sorts of fun things like that. 
> 
> But really, it's just a story, not a crazy biopic on the remnants of the wizarding world after the HP series. It's just some fun.

Nobody, least of all himself, expected Dean Winchester to become a school prefect in his fifth year.

 

 

But come August, there was not only Sam's acceptance letter and book list along with Dean's own book list, but a little parcel containing a prefect badge.

 

 

“A school prefect?” John asked, startling Dean. He was peering over his son's shoulder, reading the letter.

 

 

_Dear Mr. Dean Winchester,_

 

 

_Upon careful consideration, Professor Samuel Campbell the Head of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, in conjunction with the head of the House of Gryffindor, have selected you from among your peers in their fifth year of studies to be a school prefect. Your badge is enclosed. Please come to Platform 9¾ dressed in your school robes rather than changing en route. You be given time to gather with your fellow prefects as well as the new Head Boy and Head Girl._

 

_Congratulations, Mr. Winchester, and good luck._

 

_Samuel Campbell_

_Head of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

 

 

“Uh. This is. Um,” Dean stammered. In his first four years at Hogwarts, he had amassed a reputation as a troublemaker. He was a stellar Quidditch player, and he got decent grades, but he had never imagined that he would be chosen as prefect.

 

 

“Sam! Letter!” John yelled up the stairs. Sam grumbled something about sleep, but Dean could hear his footfalls on the floor.

 

 

“I think it's a practical joke,” Dean said, shrugging, and discarded the letter on the kitchen table to take a look at his course schedule and book list. Potions with Professor Singer, Charms with Professor Mills, Transfiguration with Professor Henrikson, Care of Magical Creatures with- here there was an asterisk- Divination with Pam, Defense Against the Dark Arts with Professor Colt, and lastly, Herbology with Joshua.

 

 

“So, you'll take Sam to get you boys's things?” John asked, turning around. Dean swallowed. He knew that this was a difficult year for his father, a year when Mary would be missed sorely. He would have the house all to himself, and working at his Muggle job would be dull in comparison to the adventures the boys would be having. Dean thumbed the corner of the parchment which his book list was written on.

 

 

Sam thundered down the stairs, his eyes sparkling with excitement.

 

 

“Did I get one?” Sam ran over to the table, snatching up the letter addressed to him. Dean and John watched fondly as he read, Dean remembering his own glee at receiving his acceptance letter to Hogwarts five years ago. He patted the delivery owl and fed it some bread. It fluttered out of the open window.

 

 

“Can we go today?” Dean asked, eager to be back in a wizarding area where he could talk freely among other wizards. Plus, he couldn't wait to see Sam find his wand and discover all of the incredible things he hadn't yet seen from what Dean brought home, not always legally. First of all, they were going to hit up his favorite store, run by a Hogwarts dropout with fiery red hair. The sweets there were incredible.

 

 

“Absolutely. You have your money?”

 

 

“Yeah, I still have a bunch of Galleons left over from the Muggle currency exchange we did last year. It should be more than enough. We can go to the bank, too, if we need it.”

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

Two hours later, their things stashed into a small pouch with infinite interior space, it was time for the final purchase: Sam's wand. Dean led his little brother into the Colt Family Wand Makers store, heading to the back where an attendant was helping a slight blond girl in a set of luxurious emerald robes pick a wand.

 

 

“But we _want_ an Ollivander's,” the girl's father was saying. “I have one, her mother has one, her sisters have them.”

 

 

“I'm sorry, Alistair, but you simply can _not_ make a wand work for someone. We're down to the last few Ollivander made, and we've tried them all with your darling little Lilith here.”

 

 

“Oh, there you guys are.” Two more teenage girls burst through the door, dressed in casual robes and slightly winded. Dean recognized the older, clad in mauve, quite well. Her name was Meg; they were in the same year though in different houses, and they had two very different, very clashing personalities. Dean had seen the younger, dressed in sky blue, around the school.

 

 

“Meg,” Dean said with a generous helping of animosity. Meg beamed.

 

 

“Hello, muddy, have a fun summer with the television and telephone?”

 

 

“Dean, who's that?” Sam whispered, tugged on the sleeve of his brother's Muggle jacket.

 

 

“Meg,” Dean said again. He had mentioned her in his frequent owls home.

 

 

“No, who is _she_?” Dean was confused until he followed Sam's gaze to the younger girl.

 

 

“I'm Ruby,” she offered, coyly curling a lock of brown curls around her finger.

 

 

“Meg, tell Daddy that it's okay if I get a Colt Wand,” the blonde girl Lilith called.

 

 

“Da-ad,” Ruby said. “It doesn't matter.”

 

 

The Winchester brothers watched as Alistair scowled at his daughters.

 

 

“Fine. But don't expect anything,” he said finally, turning back to the attendant.

 

 

“That one,” Lilith said quietly, walking, in a daze, over to a box that, to Dean, didn't look any different than any of the others. It quivered slightly until all of a sudden, untouched, the lid shot off and ricocheted around the room with a series of great clatters. Sam watched, eyes wide. Lilith's family members were all looking slightly bored, but the young girl was slowly reaching into the box. She pulled out the wand inside as the lid crashed to a stop at Sam's feet. Lilith grinned, holding the wand with the ease of any talented wizard Dean had ever seen.

 

 

“I'm impressed,” Meg said, eyebrow raised at her sister. “Flying piece of wood. Much better than Ruby's little-”

 

 

“Shut up!” Ruby squeaked, clamping a hand tightly over her sister's mouth. Meg rolled her eyes and suddenly the younger recoiled, wiping her hand on the mauve robes. “Ew! Meg licked me!”

 

 

“Not like you made it difficult,” Meg retorted, huffing. “Can we get the wand and go? I have to get these robes cleaned now.”

 

 

“Winchester.” The attendant's voice startled the two brothers at the edge of the debacle.

 

 

“That's me,” Dean said, grinning absurdly.

 

 

“Sam,” the man ordered.

 

 

“How- how do you know my- my name?” Sam stuttered, eyes widening at the discomfort of being put on the spot.

 

 

“Oh, good Merlin, he's as smart as his brother,” Meg muttered, rolling her eyes. Dean sneered at her.

 

 

“The lid, Winchester.” The attendant ignored the two older teenagers.

 

 

“What?” Sam blinked at him.

 

 

“The lid, if you please, Winchester.”

 

 

“Oh! Oh.” The Masters family snickered as Sam fumbled for the piece of wood that now rested at his feet. _Ten inches, mahogany, petrified Daemon blood,_ it read. Sam handed it to Lilith, drawing his hand back.

 

 

“At least it has the daemon blood,” Alistair Masters scoffed, looking at the wand with disdain. His daughter's expression, on the other hand, was full of wonder. She gazed at the wand while her father paid, and only snapped out of the trance when Meg clapped her hands in her face. Lilith startled and frowned, scurrying after them with a swirl of deep green. Before she was gone, Dean saw her regard Sam for the briefest of seconds.

 

 

“Your turn, Sammy,” Dean said. The attendant regarded the younger boy carefully before heading over to a row of shelves beneath a sign which read: _Dragon Wands_.

 

 

“We'll start over here,” the attendant determined, beckoning Sam forward. He reached for the first box of the first row of the first shelf and handed the wand inside to Sam. Sam took it, his face solemn with anticipation. He had seen Lilith's wand choose her, and was obviously expected a similar rapture.

 

 

Nothing happened.

 

 

“We got all day, Sammy,” Dean said, smiling, and Sam finally caught on.

 

 

They worked their way through the entire stock of dragon wands, the most exciting result being an ooze of brown sludge from a rustic cherry wood eleven inch.

 

 

“You are incompatible,” the attendant said, frowning. He seemed very confused.

 

 

_Nut job_ , Dean thought.

 

 

“Mine is angel feather,” he offered. “Ollivander made it decades ago.” Sometimes preferences were genetic, according to his friend, fellow fifth year Benny Lafitte. Maybe Sam might have better luck trying an angel wand.

 

 

“No, no angel wands in stock right now.” The attendant was now staring unabashedly at Sam, who seemed gloomy. “They haven't been seen in centuries, and no feathers have been found for fifteen years. Ollivander only made eight in his entire career.”

 

 

“I remember someone saying something like that,” Dean said, scratching his ear. Beside him, Sam was looking dejectedly at the ground.

 

 

“Maybe I'm not cut out to be a wizard after all,” he said, chin quivering. Dean's heart panged. That was not an option.

 

 

“Maybe you're just not cool enough to have a cool wand. Try something lame, like- ooh! I know! Unicorn! Girly enough. Just not as girly as you. It'll be perfect! Besides, Bobby- uh, I mean Professor Singer, told me that you were magic.” Dean ruffled Sam's hair. Cheering his brother up and insulting him at the same time was the elder Winchester's specialty.

 

 

“Might I try the kind that Lilith chose?” Sam asked. “It seemed to work really quick for her.”

 

 

“You are of Muggle descent, correct?”

 

 

“Yes,” Dean said. “Our parents are not-”

 

 

“Yes, yes, now I remember, your father was a Muggle, that's why you came in with Professor Singer,” the attendant said. “I'm sorry, Samuel-”

 

 

“Sam, please-”

 

 

“-but the daemon wands are only compatible with purebred wizarding families. There has never been an exception.”

 

 

“Okay,” Sam said.

 

 

He and the attendant worked their way through all of the other wands, phoenix feather, unicorn hair, mermaid tear, et cetera. Dean pulled out the catalog he had been given at the broom store, scrutinizing the different kinds of brooms. He was replacing one of his house's Beaters, now graduated, and leaving behind his Chaser position in Quidditch, and a better broom would go a long way towards the cup. The pictures zoomed around the pages, and Dean wished he could buy every single one. They were expensive, brooms were, and it was crucial to save their wizarding currency for more important things.

 

 

 

“Hello, Dean,” said a quiet voice next to him, making him jump.

 

 

“Sammy! Wear a bell, man, jeez!” Dean turned to scowl at his brother only to find that it wasn't his brother at all. It was Castiel, a fifth-year Ravenclaw whom Dean had had several classes with but never really talked to. The boy was quiet, withdrawn, talking mostly to the other members of his family also enrolled in the school.

 

 

“My name's Castiel,” the Ravenclaw reminded him.

 

 

“Oh, uh, yeah, of course. I know who you are. I just- I thought you were Sammy.”

 

 

“Is he 'Sammy'? Are you two brothers?” Castiel inquired, head tilted to the side. The younger Winchester's nick name sounded strange in his gravelly voice.

 

 

“Sam, yeah, he is. He'll be a first year. I'm betting Gryffindor,” Dean said proudly, sitting up straight. Everyone knew Gryffindor was the _best_ , yielding scores of Aurors and the legendary trio that had defeated the Dark Lord himself. Castiel raised an eyebrow but let the subject drop.

 

 

“You never know,” he said in a vaguely foreboding manner. “So, I take it you'll be playing Quidditch for Gryffindor this year?” Castiel changed the subject clumsily, gesturing to the catalog of broom sticks splayed open on Dean's lap.

 

 

“Uh, duh, I've been playing since first year,” Dean said. It had created quite a buzz among the students when he was picked as a Chaser at such a young age. There hadn't been a first year Quidditch player in decades, not since way before Dean was born. _A natural_ , they called him. _And a Muggle born,_ too.

 

Castiel turned red, looking away. “Sorry. Um. I don't really follow Quidditch.”

 

 

“Not at all?” Dean wondered. Surely there wasn't anyone out of the loop far enough to not know about the four teams. “Do you even know who has won the cup the last four years?”

 

 

“Uh, I don't think it was Ravenclaw,” Castiel said, brows furrowed in concentration.

 

 

“Oh, god, you're serious,” Dean said.

 

 

“Are you Muggle born?” Castiel asked out of the blue. Dean's eyebrows shot up.

 

 

“Uh, that's kind of a personal question, dude,” he said, crossing his arms offensively. Castiel's cheeks turned red once again.

 

 

“I'm sorry, Dean, I just couldn't help but notice that you utilized the word 'god' instead of the more wizard typical vernacular 'Merlin' or 'Potter', meaning you have spent some of your formative years among Muggles.”

 

 

“Whoah, you're like Sherlock Holmes or something,” Dean said, indignation forgotten. “Yeah, I live with my dad. He's Muggle.”

 

 

“Your mother is, too?”

 

 

“She's....she passed away,” Dean said, studying the face of the _Firebolt Millenium_ broom stick's endorser, some Canadian Quidditch player whose name he didn't know.

 

 

“I'm sorry,” Castiel said yet again.

 

 

“So, what brings you here?” Dean asked, feeling awkward. “You're not with any siblings.”

 

 

“No, I'm the youngest. Of my siblings. Cousins, though... there are dozens of us.”

 

 

“Dozens of cousins. That rhymes.”

 

 

“Indeed,” Castiel responded, nodding solemnly as if the little linguistic hiccup was the most important thing he had ever heard. Dean smirked. This guy was funny.

 

 

“So, did you snap your wand or something?” Dean asked.

 

 

“Uh. Um. I-” Castiel looked extraordinarily panicked. Dean raised an eyebrow. Kids born to wizarding families were the weirdest.

 

 

“Ah, du Seigneur, I trust you have the parcel?” Suddenly, the attendant was at their side, noticing the Ravenclaw for the first time, leaving Sam standing awkwardly by a box of Ollivander's remaining antique wands.

 

 

“Yes, sir,” Castiel replied, straightening himself out. He reached into his robes and pulled out a package covered in a metallic-looking mesh. He handed it to the attendant, handling it as carefully and gingerly as one might handle a royal infant.

 

 

 

“Very good, very good. I'll have Samuel craft it and deliver it in person.”

 

 

“My brother? Craft what?” Dean was puzzled. Castiel fidgeted, running a thumb along one of the many French seams of his expensive navy robes. They were tailored perfectly to his body and Dean recollected someone saying that the du Seigneur clan was crazily influential. He probably had money dripping out of his pores. Dean self consciously stuffed his hands into his jean pockets. He didn't have robes that weren't Hogwarts uniform.

 

 

“No, different Samuel. My uncle, Samuel Colt.”

 

 

“Oh, cool! He's my Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher.”

 

 

“He's everyone's DADA teacher,” Castiel pointed out. “There's only one.” A sarcastic retort died on Dean's tongue when he caught sight of the Ravenclaw's face. He seemed genuinely eager to help, not smart alecky. Again, ten points to wizard families for their weird offspring.

 

 

“Um, excuse me? I'm not sure exactly,” Sam interjected shyly, “but I think I may have found my wand.”

 

 

“Let me see,” the attendant ordered, stuffing Castiel's delivery in his pocket.

 

“See you around,” Dean called to the strange Ravenclaw as he swished his way out of the door, a whirl of navy and a muted susurrous. He didn't seem to hear Dean.

 

 

“No, impossible,” the attendant was saying. “You are not a pure blood.”

 

 

“But look!” Sam whipped the wand through the air, sending snowflakes cascading to the gound.

 

 

“Whoah, whoah, careful with that, boy, you have no training!” Sam gulped nervously as the man snapped at him.

 

 

“Sorry!” he squeaked.

 

 

 

“No, no, you're not a Campbell, you're not a Black, or a Weasley, or a Colt, or a du Seigneur, or even a Masters......” the attendant muttered, pacing. “Are you certain of your lineage?”

 

 

“Um, yeah,” Sam said, still frightened. Dean blinked.

 

 

“They told me I was an exception,” he said slowly. Trying to remember one little conversation from a day of culture shock a third of his lifetime ago was nearly impossible.

 

 

“What did 'they' say?”

 

 

“Uh, that my wand was angel feather? Mountain ash, twelve inches? Oh, yeah, something about angel feathers only claiming some stuffy old clan and their descendants.....”

 

 

“That would be the du Seigneurs,” the attendant said, concentrating. “.....Might be a gene mutation, magical accident....”

 

 

“So, if the wand works, can we please just get it?” Dean asked, growing impatient with the ramblings of a dull old man with myopic views and old fashioned opinions.

 

 

“I need to be sure...... might I have your wand? To determine something?”

 

 

“I guess,” Dean replied, shrugging at Sam. Before it was fully out of his pocket, the wand was snatched away and levitated into the back room along with the one Sammy had in his hands. The man followed soon afterward, still mumbling about lineage and genetics. The brothers didn't talk. Dean could tell that Sam was upset.

 

 

Finally, the attendant returned, smiling tersely at them. The daemon wand was packaged neatly and each boy's wand was returned gently to their hands.

 

 

“All set,” he said through his fake smile. “No problems.”

 

 

Dean and Sam exchanged a glance. There was something he wasn't telling them.

 

 

 


	2. Brotherly Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam and Dean arrive at Platform 9 3/4, and Dean meets his fellow prefects.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> du Seigneur is French for 'of the lord'. 'Mud badger' is basically saying 'Mudblood mingling Ravenclaw stupid face' in snob language.

The hardest part of getting to Hogwarts was managing to get through, undetected, the barrier at Platform 9¾. Sam was wearing Muggle clothing, but Dean had been instructed to wear full Hogwarts regalia, beginning his new platter of duties as prefect right away. He had sent an owl to Bobby Singer after their shopping trip, making sure that he was actually chosen.

 

 

He was.

 

 

The only problem with wearing his school robes- they were really more comfortable than his Muggle street clothes- was that they were small on him. He had grown over the summer. Oh, that and the fact that most of the local Muggles didn't walk around wearing things that resembled a grim reaper Halloween costume.

 

 

But eventually they got through the barrier, and it was as if a weight was lifted from Dean's shoulders at being back among his school mates. Nervous first years clung to their parents, seventh years watched them with young man's nostalgia, fifth years fretted about OWLs, and students of every year reunited with their friends, babbling about the adventures they had had over the summer vacation. Beside him, Sam caught sight of the Masters girls, dressed in brilliant colored robes, and stared until Meg saw him and smirked.

 

 

“Is this the notorious little brother?” Benny grabbed Dean into a vicious bro-hug as Sam watched, feeling more than a little awkward. Benny regarded him carefully once the man embrace had ended.

 

 

“Benny, this is Samantha destined for Hufflepuff,” the elder Winchester introduced. “Samantha, dearest little sister, meet Benny Lafitte who could literally drain you of your life blood if you annoy me. I mean, uh, if you bug him.”

 

 

“You're a vampire?” Sam asked dubiously.

 

 

“Yep. After the great war ended, the school for vampires down south dissolved. Safety in numbers and all that. Some wizards ain't all that kindly toward folk like me, and there are terrorist attacks. All you humans probably won't attack the school crawlin' with your own young.” Benny sighed, solemn, until he caught himself. “Anyways, we impure have got to stick together.”

 

 

“Impure?” Sam wondered. Dean's attention wandered as he listened half heartedly. There was quite a commotion at the far end of the platform.

 

 

“Sure,” Benny was saying. “Lots of old wizarding families like to keep 'emselves 'pure', marryin' each other and spittin' on those who ain't of the old bloodlines or anyone who ain't exactly human, like myself.”

 

“Dean said that there were werewolves and vampires and things at Hogwarts.”

 

 

“Yeah, a few. Lot of our kind were slaughtered after the fall of the Dark Lord, afraid of anyone who might be dangerous. Seems to me they forgot that He Who Must Not Have Been Named wasn't no vampire.”

 

 

“That's terrible,” Sam was saying, ever the sensitive one.

 

 

“Eh, happened before our times. The most important thing you have got to worry over is getting along with the Hat.”

 

 

A loud crash sounded across the platform, stopping most of the conversations right in their tracks. A large group of people were huddled around something Dean couldn't quite see.

 

 

“Who are they?” Sam asked, nodding towards the rainbow display of robes.

 

 

“The du Seigneurs,” Dean said. “There are tons of 'em.”

 

 

“One of the largest clans of pure bloods, hidden away until the Battle of Hogwarts ended everything, then they came out and re-entered society. They're real dicks.”

 

 

“Most of them,” Dean corrected, surprising himself. Benny gave him an odd look.

 

 

“That redheaded sixth year sure is cute, brother, but again, dicks.”

 

 

“I'm not talking about Anna,” Dean said. “I'm just saying that they're pure bloods, which means Slytherin, which means snobbishness runs rampant. But I think that not all of them are Slytherins. There has got to be a reason for that.”

 

 

“Very deep of you, Dean,” Benny said. “What did ya do, swallow a self help book over break?”

 

 

“Shut up,” Dean said, rolling his eyes.

 

 

The group of du Seigneurs dispersed as a frankly tiny wizard in deep green robes broke through, striding away from them with a stormy expression on his face. A blond in pale grey followed, pushing a cart with a couple of pristine leather suitcases in front of him.

 

Then, scrambling a few yards behind them, was the boy from the wand shop, Castiel du Seigneur, eyes to the ground, shoulders hunched. Three fraternal seventh years watched them go, smirking. Dean recognized them from Quidditch. They were triplets, Lucifer, Michael, and Raphael, all Slytherin. In the owl Bobby had sent him, it had mentioned that Lucifer was Head Boy and therefore Dean, as fifth year prefect, was more or less his footman. The Head Girl was a pretty girl Dean had gone up against in Quidditch games. He had never spoken to her when they weren't grunting over Bludgers. He hoped that she was an okay person at the least, because he was getting a bad feeling about Lucifer.

 

 

“You're all just as bad as the muddies!” Dean winced at the slur that came from the mouth of one of the other triplets. Onlookers gasped and Castiel looked close to tears. The older two, in green and grey, boarded the train, Castiel stumbling soon after, nursing his shoulder. Through the window of the train, Dean could see the Ravenclaw's cerulean robes flop into a seat as the boy in grey shut the compartment door. Then, the blind was yanked shut and their view was obscured. The rest of the du Seigneurs talked among themselves. A handful of other students emerged from the huddle, all Slytherins, and boarded the train, not caring about the stares that they were receiving by their less haughty counterparts.

 

 

“We better beat their collective ass in the House comp this year,” Benny said. “Quidditch too.”

 

 

“Are the Masters girls nicer?” Sam asked Dean.

 

 

“Nope. Meg's a bitch,” Dean said confidently.

 

 

“So basically: all the Slytherins are dicks an' bitches,” Benny summarized. “Gryffindor is the best, Ravenclaws are all kind of suck ups, and Hufflepuffs ain't exactly known for their brilliance.”

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

 

 

After forcing Sam out of the compartment (he told his little brother that he was being a clingy bitch, but he really just wanted his brother to meet some other first years), Dean slumped back into his seat, sighing.

 

 

“So, prefect, eh?” Benny asked now that they were alone. “Congrats, brother.”

 

 

“Fuck me,” Dean groaned, savoring the Muggle explicative. “I'm not a nerd. I was hoping you were going to get picked.”

 

“So you're saying I'm a nerd?” Benny teased.

 

 

“Yes. It's fatal. You have months left to live.”

 

 

“Seriously, though, good for you.”

 

 

“You deserve it, not me,” Dean said sincerely. Benny was an excellent student and an incredible athlete, and he was well liked among all of the professors who didn't care about his fangy side.

 

 

“You honestly think Headmaster Campbell would pick a leech to lead his own kin?” Benny asked, that flint of sorrow returning to his eyes as he zoned out, probably thinking about how awesome it would be if the shiny pin was upon his robe.

 

 

“Maybe he just wanted someone _cool_ to lead,” Dean said, fully aware that this was the method he had used on Sam to cheer him up at the wand shop a few weeks ago. Benny met his eye. _You ain't foolin' no one, brother_ , his face clearly read.

 

 

“Yo, Winchester, Lafitte, you ready for a kick-ass year?”

 

 

“Hells yeah, Monroe,” Dean replied, mock saluting another fifth year boy whose head was peeking in the door of their compartment. “We got the best Seeker since the War ended on our team.”

 

 

“Yeah, Baum's the bomb,” Nick Monroe joked, Muggle born lingo not lost on Dean.

 

 

Benny and Monroe exchanged banter for a few moments as Dean gazed out at the whirling countryside. He was worried about Sam, the way he had taken so quickly to a passel of Slytherin bitches, and the anomaly of his wand's selection. What if, like the wand, the Sorting Hat misread his lineage and put him in with all of the pure bloods?

 

 

He was snapped out of his brotherly thoughts as a loud voice sounded throughout the train.

 

 

“Will all of the fifth year prefects please make their way to the front-most car? Again, will all of the fifth year prefects-”

 

 

“Oi, Lucinda, they get it,” snapped the disembodied voice of the Head Girl over Lucifer's drawl. Dean was reassured by the derogatory nick name. Maybe she'd be cool.

 

“That's you, brother,” Benny said. Nick looked impressed.

 

 

“I was wondering who got picked. Good for you, man,” Nick said.

 

 

“Thanks,” Dean said flatly, standing up and exiting the compartment. A few cars up, he spotted the concessions lady and suddenly he couldn't stop thinking about the pie slices that were exclusive to the wizarding world. He bought five: Penny's Pumpkin Potion, Winged Strawberry, Rainbow Pear, and a few mystery flavors. He unwrapped the Penny's Pumpkin Potion and shoved the rest in his infinitely roomy pouch for later. He grinned, eating as he walked, as the fizzy pumpkin filling warmed up his throat and stomach pleasantly, leaving him feeling relaxed and tingly.

 

 

In the first car, Dean walked in to see four students already there: Lucifer du Seigneur, Gilda Faye- _of course! Hufflepuff's Quidditch captain!_ \- a cute Hufflepuff named Amy Pond who he had had Herbology class with last year, and Meg Masters.

 

 

“Ah, I see Gryffindor has arrived,” Lucifer said, smirk playing at his lips. Gilda rolled her eyes as she pulled her long hair into a glossy pony tail. Meg's eyebrows flew up as Dean sauntered in, sitting on one of the six seats. Amy smiled at him, clearly uncomfortable, from her spot on the same seat as Meg. Looking around, Dean noted that with two to a seat, all twelve prefects plus Gilda and Lucifer would fit perfectly. He wondered if the car was specially designed to accommodate the prefects. They were all arranged at the walls of the car, three on each side.

 

 

“ _You_ got prefect?” Meg asked, stunned. She looked around at the others, as if seeing whether or not the whole thing was a practical joke.

 

 

“No, I'm Merlin and a vial of Polyjuice Potion,” Dean dead panned.

 

 

“Do you guys know who Ravenclaw is?” Amy asked, smiling nervously through the tense glares of the other prefects.

 

 

“Not sure,” Dean shrugged, turning his attention to her.

 

 

“Here's a clue: it's my darling little brother,” Lucifer crooned.

 

 

“Nice robes,” Meg said to Dean, grinning at their too-short length.

 

 

“Please, guys, at least pretend you like each other,” said the Head Girl, sighing like they were a bunch of colic-ridden Mandrakes she had to babysit.

 

“I can expand them for you, if you want,” Amy offered quietly. Dean nodded after a moment. He liked her much more than Meg already.

 

 

“I'd love it,” he said. Amy pulled out her wand, a thick maple shaft, and concentrated, mouthing the words to a spell. Suddenly, the hems of his robes shuddered and lifted, the fabric rippling and expanding until they were a perfect fit.

 

 

“Is that okay?” Amy asked.

 

 

“That's awesome,” Dean corrected. “What spell did you use?”

 

 

“Just something I've been working on. It works on fabric, but not scrolls.”

 

 

“You made your own spell? Are you sure you're not really our Ravenclaw?” Meg asked.

 

 

“Not that I know of,” Amy joked, flattered. “I mean, there are only so many people who look good in yellow. Hufflepuff's got to snatch them up.”

 

 

“Nice. Yellow makes me look like one of those Raincloud Slugs they had us caring for last year.”

 

 

“Sallow and grey and clammy. Eugh,” Amy agreed. Dean occupied himself with following the shapes of Gilda's curvy body under her robes without being caught. The Quidditch had given her enough lean muscle to-

 

 

“Ah, little brother, you've emerged from among the muddy badgers to join us.”

 

 

Dean turned around to see Castiel du Seigneur at the entrance, face carefully wiped of any emotion. Dean nodded a terse hello. Lucifer's brother, a Ravenclaw, and a nerd. He should have put the pieces together. Whatever.

 

 

Castiel looked blank, his eyes straight ahead. He sat stiffly in an unoccupied seat, not acknowledging Dean or his brother.

 

 

 

“Hey, Cassie!” Meg said, and Dean was surprised to see nothing mocking in her enthusiasm. Castiel looked at her, meeting her eye briefly before staring straight forward again.

 

“So, here we are,” Gilda said, smiling genuinely at the four younger students. “Dean Winchester of Gryffindor, Amy Pond from Hufflepuff, my personal favorite, though I suppose I am a tad biased, after all, Megana something or other- how do you even pronounce-”

 

 

“Meg is fine,” the Slytherin interrupted. Dean made a mental note to find out her true name and use it against her at some point.

 

 

“Meg Masters of the house of the pure,” Lucifer said, smiling at her. “Castiel. Oh, Cas.” Lucifer laughed, playing with the name on his tongue.

 

 

“From Ravenclaw,” Gilda finished, glaring at him.

 

 

“Yes, _Ravenclaw_ indeed,” the Head Boy agreed gleefully. “Badgers in the mud.”

 

 

“Oy, stuff it, inbred prick,” Dean said, bristling. Meg's eyes shot up, Gilda face palmed, Amy coughed, and Castiel stared out of the window.

 

 

“I'm sorry, what?” Lucifer mimed cleaning out his ears to hear Dean better. “I think I misheard.”

 

 

“Racial slurs? Really?” Dean said, refusing to back down.

 

 

“Scientific classification,” Lucifer shot back.

 

 

“Look, just because your mom's also your aunt and your sister, doesn't mean you're better than us,” Dean snarled. Castiel finally reacted, wincing sharply. Dean remembered too late that insulting Lucifer's mother was just as offensive to his younger brother and kicked himself mentally.

 

 

“My mother's dead, lion breath, how's yours?” Lucifer said. Castiel slumped in his chair. “Cassie killed her.”

 

 

“I hope someone Crucios you for the rest of your life,” the younger du Seigneur hissed. Meg looked proud.

 

 

“Nice one, Cas,” she said.

 

 

“You're awfully brave, mud badger, now that we're away from home.”

 

 

Castiel narrowed his eyes.

 

 

“You're awfully confident now that your magic is legal,” he retorted. “Maybe I'll tell the other 'mud badgers' to break your wand. Not much you can do then.”

 

 

“You're already cut off from the inheritance, do you want to be thrown out on the streets two years early?”

 

 

“Fuck off,” Dean said.

 

 

“Ah, Muggle curses, I'm quaking in my robes,” Lucifer said.

 

 

“ _Boys_ ,” Gilda hissed. “Settle down.”

 

 

“Hate to break it to you, Lucy,” Dean continued, “but who exactly are you going to breed with? Ain't that many pure bloods since the War and all the Blacks died and the Weasleys intermarried.”

 

 

Lucifer stood up, fists clenching.

 

 

“ _I am Head Boy, and I can and will make your life miserable_ ,” the Slytherin threatened.

 

 

Gilda stood up, waving her wand and whispering, and suddenly Lucifer was frozen in place. Cas smiled weakly and the two fifth year girls looked more than a little intimidated.

 

 

“Now, who wants to meet the sixth year prefects?” Gilda sat down calmly, gazing at her frozen counterpart. “We can all watch Lucy clench his fists for a few hours.”

 

 

 _What the hell have I gotten myself into?_ Dean wondered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going away for Thanksgiving very soon and I don't know if I'll be able to update, so I posted another chapter in case I won't get wifi.


	3. Thestrals and the Sorting Hat

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean has a very personal discussion with some of the other prefects, and finds something out about Castiel's past and his family's history.
> 
>  
> 
> Then, trouble begins brewing as Sam gets Sorted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise I'm not going to be writing so many minor characters much after this I just had no freaking clue who to add to Gryffindor's Quidditch team, so yeah.
> 
>  
> 
> Also in case you weren't sure, Nick Monroe is from the siren episode of Supernatural. He's an agent who ends up being best bros with Dean and semi-bros with Sam and then dies. He has only minor parts and I only added him because that's where my brother is in the series and I watched some with him.

The fifth year prefects were exempt from duties for the first few weeks. Letting the confusion die down before throwing in several flustered youngsters with brand new authority positions in the mix was Headmaster Campbell's idea.

 

 

By the time the Hogwarts Express pulled into the station, the first years were escorted across the lake by Gilda and Lucifer, unfrozen. The rest of the students hopped out and clustered into the carriages pulled by the creatures only a few could see. Dean looked around for his friends, but the prefects had been the last to leave, making sure nobody remained snoozing in the train cars. Three carriages remained. Dean pretended that he couldn't see the creatures. He didn't know what they were called, but as nobody seemed to notice them or talk about them he let it rest.

 

 

He climbed into the first carriage, joined soon by the two older Gryffindor prefects: a seventh year named Eliot and a sixth year named Tessa. Eliot Ness was the captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team, and Dean's fellow Beater. They had been planning the change in positions since the end of last season when Hufflepuff had beaten them badly and they were eliminated. At least they hadn't lost as badly as Ravenclaw to Slytherin. The Hufflepuff/Slytherin game had been intense, and Dean was glad that most of the star players from both of those teams had graduated.

 

 

“Can I sit here?” Dean looked down from the carriage. Castiel was standing there, looking awkwardly at the other ones, filled with prefects already.

 

 

“Yeah, sure,” Dean said, offering him a hand up into the carriage, but the Ravenclaw didn't seem to notice.

 

 

“You're the Ravenclaw prefect, right?” Tessa asked.

 

 

“Yes,” Castiel replied.

 

 

“Is nobody here going to mention the thestral in the room?” Eliot said, looking around seriously at them all. Tessa shifted in her seat, Castiel winced, and Dean just squinted. The carriage jerked and began to move.

 

 

“Thestral?” Dean asked.

 

 

“I know you can see them,” Eliot said.

 

 

“Oh. Oh! Those skeleton horse things,” Dean said. “Yeah, but I just assumed that nobody else could see them, 'cause nobody ever mentions 'em.”

 

 

“That's because only a few can see them.”

 

 

“Is there some, like, personality trait that makes 'em visible?” Dean asked, intrigued. Castiel and Tessa were gazing at them with abject horror.

 

 

“I'm sorry,” the sixth year interjected, “but I don't think that this is an appropriate-”

 

 

“So, Quidditch,” Castiel said, smiling nervously. Dean raised an eyebrow.

 

 

“Nice try, Cas, but I know for a fact you don't care about athletics and now I'm dying to know what the thespians are.”

 

 

“Thespians are theater performers,” Castiel replied automatically. “Wait,” he said, turning to look at Dean. “What did you call me?”

 

 

“Uh, Cas?” Dean said.

 

 

“Yeah. That. Why did you say that?”

 

 

“'Cause Castiel is a mouthful,” Dean responded. “Wizarding names are weird.”

 

 

“I was lucky,” Tessa said, reminiscing. “My parents were going to name me some traditional name but my mom was Muggle born and she didn't like the long names my dad had chosen, so she named me after a character from her favorite picture book.”

 

 

“Was?” Castiel inquired.

 

 

“She's dead,” Tessa responded bluntly. “She was volunteering at the Home for Magical Orphans, you know, the one that was established when so many kids were orphaned in the War, and they made the decision to let some little werewolf girl stay there and some purists freaked and attacked the place. Fifteen died, fourteen of them children. Her protection spell saved me, but none of the orphans.”

 

 

“I'm sorry,” Dean breathed quietly.

 

 

“It's the natural order of things,” Tessa said, emotionless, but Dean could sense the pain in her tone.

 

 

“No one should have to lose their mother at such a young age,” Castiel said. Tessa scoffed.

 

 

“You're a du Seigneur, right?”

 

 

“Yes, I am, but-”

 

 

“There were three of your family in the attack group,” Tessa said, running her thumb along her sleek wand.

 

 

“I know,” Castiel said, not flinching. “The Aurors came to the du Seigneur Manor two days later. Everybody hid. But I was- but they found her and thought she was my aunt, and before she could explain, they killed her.” The Ravenclaw prefect finally looked away. “I watched them Crucio her for an hour before one of them finally got bored and finished it. I was young, but old enough to know the green light. That's why I can see the thestrals.”

 

 

A stunned silence fell over the four prefects until Dean finally worked up the courage to speak.

 

 

“So if you've seen a death, you can see the thespians?”

 

 

“Thestrals,” Tessa and Castiel said at once.

 

 

“Who did you lose?” Castiel asked Dean bluntly.

 

 

“Let's just say I'm a longtime member of the dead moms club,” he said. “She was a Muggle, like my dad, but I guess they thought she was someone else and some freaks showed up and set the house full of these fire dragon things. I escaped with my brother, but we were both hit with so much magic that we ended up wizards. My mom wasn't quite so lucky.”

 

 

“That makes a lot of sense,” Cas said, pondering something, until he was met with four stares and he flushed red. “I mean, not that they, uh, killed your mother, but, just the um, that would have been around the same time as most of the other purist attacks and the last angel feathers being found-”

 

 

“The last angel feathers were found, like, three years before that,” Dean said. “The year I was born.”

 

 

“Oh. Of course,” Castiel stammered, eyes widening. “I must have gotten something wrong. No angels since then. Not at all. They should have sent me to Hufflepuff,” he joked, shaking his head.

 

 

 

“They should make thestral wands,” Eliot said out of nowhere. “Imagine the power that lies in something so magical in nature.”

 

 

“You should look into it,” Tessa said. “Ask my dad to help you gather the material.”

 

 

“Your dad?” Castiel asked.

 

 

“Yeah, he's replacing the old Care of Magical Creatures teacher this year. It wasn't really that appealing to him, but he said that the Headmaster chose him specifically out of all of the candidates. Lot of people want to work here. Safest place in the world, Hogwarts, and everyone is frightened of attacks. But my dad got the job. It was out of the blue, really.”

 

 

“Your dad's a pure blood, you said?” Dean asked. “Let me guess, the other guys were muddied.”

 

 

“I wouldn't be surprised,” Cas muttered under his breath.

 

 

“No offense to pure bloods,” Dean said, “but you guys have some seriously skewed world views.”

 

 

Castiel didn't respond, but he stared intently at Dean. The Gryffindor felt unable to look away from the piercing blue gaze. He had read somewhere, in History of Magic class, that some of the most powerful wizards had colored irises, rather than brown. Merlin, Potter, Dumbledore, Gandalf the Grey, and he wondered if the same was true of Castiel or if it was a result of his pure bloodline.

 

 

“Well, on that cheery note, we're here,” Eliot said, dusting off his robes and hopping gracefully to the ground.

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

“Hey, guys,” Dean said, slightly winded, as he flopped down onto a seat at the Gryffindor table. Candles glittered brightly, hovering at different layers in the air above the four long tables.

 

 

“Hi, Winchester,” chirruped a petite third year from across the table. “I heard there's two of you this year.”

 

“Dorothy,” Dean said, smiling widely. Dorothy, in her first year, had literally ran into Dean on her broom stick when he was sending an owl in the Owlery. She had flown in through the window and toppled him over before preparing a series of fantastic dives and loops, sending every single one of the owls screeching and flapping away. They had a Seeker already, and she needed a little bit of improvement, but after their Seeker had a growth spurt, she was recruited two days into her second year, when Dean was a fourth year. She was a force of nature, 'the Tornado' to most and 'Baum the Bomb' to the Gryffindors. “How was the summer training camp in Yellowknife?”

 

 

“Awesome. The Hufflepuffs' new seeker, some puny little half blood, was there too. I know all of his moves.”

 

 

“Don't call people that,” said another third year girl beside her, giving her a reproachful look.

 

 

“No, he's literally half human,” Dorothy argued.

 

 

“Still,” the other girl said. “He has a name.”

 

 

“Yeah, I. B. Toast,” Dorothy said, rolling her eyes. “'Cause he'll be toast when we have our first match.”

 

 

“Dot, racial slurs, don't change the topic.” Dean and Benny watched, bemused, as the other girl glowered at Dorothy. Eliot had gotten hit with a brutal Bat Bogey last year when he had slipped up and called her Dot.

 

 

“It's not like I meant it! I'm half muddy myself!” Dorothy defended, throwing her hands up.

 

 

“Such language!” A passing ghost interjected as he floated through the table, glaring at the living girl.

 

 

“Dot, all I'm saying is that all the boundaries are gone now, with so few pure bloodlines left-”

 

 

“Not to mention vampires,” Dean said in a stage whisper. “I heard they're super smelly and weird.”

 

 

“I know where you sleep,” Benny said good-naturedly. rolling his eyes. The other girl looked at him quizically and he sighed. “I'm Benny Lafitte, best vampire on the Gryffindor Quidditch team.”

 

 

“I know your name, I just, uh,” the third year stammered, slightly red in the face. She was clearly from a wizarding parentage. Her awkwardness around the taboo of racial issues was quite telling.

 

“It's all right, I won't bite,” Benny said, smiling (with his teeth concealed).

 

 

“Unless you ask nicely. Like last night,” Dean said, wiggling his eyebrows and flashing the vampire a lascivious sneer. Dorothy grimaced, scoffing in disgust.

 

 

“We all know you two are secretly fucking each others' brains out-”

 

 

“Language!” snapped the ghost.

 

 

“-but please, for the love of Oz, spare us the details.”

 

 

“You're....together?” Her friend looked dubiously at the two of them. “I mean, I see you with each other all the time, but I didn't know.....”

 

 

“Don't listen to Baum. She just likes to fantasize,” Dean said.

 

 

“We are not a couple,” Benny said.

 

 

“O-kay, then.”

 

 

“Hey, it's Anita, right?” Dean asked.

 

 

“Andrea,” the girl responded.

 

 

“You're the one with the frog,” Benny said, face lighting up. “I know they're a tad old fashioned and that, but they're so cool, right?”

 

 

“Yes! I found him when I was down south over the vacation,” Andrea said, lighting up. “There was a little old apothecary in the back of this Muggle diner. Said there was a clan of vampires nearby who bought blood and supplies from them after the purist attacks started to keep themselves hidden. They had a little of everything, so that the kids would get some basic education before they were old enough to be first years. They saw my Hogwarts pin and we started talking and then they offered me something and I didn't have a pet so I asked for one of the darling little pygmy puffs but then when they were getting the cage, it uncovered a tank of frogs and toads and I loved the big, fat, warty one so I took him instead.”

 

 

“Nest of vamps down south, huh?” Benny asked, the corners of his mouth curling up. Dean exchanged a glance with Dorothy. They had both seen him charm his way out of penalties with that same face.

 

 

“Yeah, down in-”

 

 

“Hey, you guys, be quiet, Campbell's going to start soon,” a gorgeous red headed sixth year said from a few seats down. Her name was Anna Milton, and Dean had quietly lusted after her for years. Her mother was one of the du Seigneurs, but she married a half blood, and was exiled, or so the story went. He was glad she wasn't a Slytherin; she was one of the best Chasers in the school and Gryffindor desperately needed as much talent as they could get after last year's devastating loss.

 

 

 

Up at the staff table, Samuel Campbell was gazing at the student body with a halcyon smile on his face. His bald head was covered by a rather hideous green hat that looked awful with his robes. He waved his wand lugubriously through the air and the candles dimmed. The line of first years at the front of the Great Hall was staring up, wonder-struck, the Muggle borns either enthralled or terrified, and the wizarding kids tried to seem nonchalant.

 

 

“C'mon, Old Soup,” Dean muttered. He was seriously hungry, despite eating all of the pie (well, all but one; which he gave to Castiel when Lucifer charmed his sandwich) he had gotten on the train. Nick Monroe, a few seats down, smirked at the nick name. It was a common barb among the Muggle borns when referring to the strict old headmaster, a reference to a brand of soup that hadn't quite been famous enough to reach wizarding tables.

 

 

“He's a bit overcooked,” Nick whispered and they chuckled quietly. Anna shot them a sharp look and they sobered up immediately. Dean made a face when the pretty Chaser turned away and Nick just rolled his eyes, drinking from his flask of something everyone suspected was firewhisky.

 

 

“Students of Hogwarts,” Campbell said pompously, gazing out over the students. “As we begin another year at this storied institution-”

 

 

“Reheated,” Dean muttered to Nick.

 

 

“-I want to extend the most warmest of welcomes to our new first years, gathered from the farthest reaches of the lands to study here. They, like all of you, will grow to be skilled wizards-”

 

 

“And witches!” Dorothy hissed.”

 

 

“-I would be proud to present to the four founders themselves, and then going on to become the finest Aurors, Healers, teachers, Ministry leaders, entrepreneurs, inventors, and even Quidditch players, that the world has ever seen.

 

 

“These youngsters, so full of raw, unharvested talent, have no Houses at the moment, but soon they will be sitting amongst you all, eating with you, laughing with you, learning with you, and growing with all of us.

 

 

“As for the returning pupils, I expect each and every one of you to make each and every one of the first years feel as welcome as though they were your family, and in time, we will all become family. There are to be no students in certain areas of the castle at certain points of the year, as the Ministry's brand new Foundation for the Remembrance of the Fallen are to begin preparing memorializations to honor those who died in the War, valiantly standing up to evil.

 

 

“There are a few changes to staff positions, including our new Care of Magical Creatures professor. I trust you'll give a hearty welcome to Professor Deth.”

 

 

Dean squinted at the staff table, until he found the face of a somber old man whom he didn't recognize. He recalled Tessa saying that her father was now in a teaching position, and she certainly had not lied when she described his enthusiasm (or lack thereof). Professor Campbell rambled on and on, until the Sorting Hat gave a pointed cough from its stool, startling a shrimpy first year so badly he yelped. The Slytherins jeered, and Dean swiveled in his seat to look at them. It was only the various du Seigneurs, and Dean imagined they must know the kid.

 

 

“And now, we shall resume the storied tradition of our fathers and mothers, and their fathers and mothers, and their fathers and mothers, and their fathers and mothers-”

 

 

The Hat hacked and coughed violently.

 

 

“Ahem. So. Shall we begin the Sorting?”

 

 

The first years looked terrified as the Hat warmed up and began to sing, flapping wildly as it recounted to all the four Houses and their founders. Then, it went on about how devastating the War was to the wizarding community and how the education of the youth was seriously important in spreading peace again, how embracing all sorts of magical humans and human-ish beings would strengthen the wozarding world once more. It sounded very preachy to Dean, and the song's vivid imagery was not only scaring the fresh meat but offending some of the ghosts, killed in the Battle of Hogwarts, to the point that they got up and flew angrily away.

 

 

Finally, the hat finished with a vaguely ominous couplet and sat still, waiting for the first student. Dean zoned out somewhere around “Chambers, Krissy” who was sent to the cheering Ravenclaw table. As “John, Bobby” was welcomed to Slytherin, Dean decided to entertain himself by poking Benny with a spoon. Benny ignored him until “Masters, Lilith” was deemed a Slytherin after less than a second of wearing the hat. Dean, seeing Sam's face fall, jabbed Benny particularly hard.

 

 

“Quit it!”

 

 

“Sorry,” Dean grumbled as “Moore, Jessica” took her new seat next to the yelping boy, Samandriel du Seigneur, who had ended up a Hufflepuff to the shock of the entire crowd. She comforted him as he hid his face in his hands.

 

 

Dean watched as one of the older Hufflepuffs sat on his other side and began consoling him. He recognized him as one of the humiliated du Seigneurs from earlier that day. It seemed like ages ago, now, and Dean was hit with a wave of fatigue. From where he stood presiding over the dwindling line of first years, Lucifer was watching them with a stony face. Dean felt another flash of hatred for the purist family and their cruel treatment of Castiel, Gabriel, and the scrawny relative whom Dean didn't know at the platform. The young boy's life was about to become very hard due to his family's prejudice. Dean recalled the whispers about Anna, the insults hurled at her during Gryffindor/Slytherin Quidditch matches, simply for having a Muggle born father. He made a mental note to ask Castiel about the youngster.

 

 

After “Tran, Kevin” was sent to Ravenclaw, there were twins sent to Ravenclaw and Gryffindor, and then it was Sam's turn.

 

 

“Oh, my, another Winchester,” Professor Campbell said, eyeing him as he might eye a glob of Gillyweed stuck to his shoe. Dean bristled. Beside him, Benny set a supernaturally strong hand on his shoulder, keeping him in his seat.

 

 

“Yes, sir,” Sam piped up, smiling innocently up at the Head of School.

 

 

“Winchester, Sam,” Campbell said after a few moments of glaring between the two. Dean found it quite amusing that they shared a first name.

 

 

Sam stepped forward, head held high, and placed the dusty old Hat on his head.

 

 

Nothing happened.

 

 

The Great Hall was quiet for a long time, as Sam's eyes grew wider and wider at whatever it was the Hat was saying to him. He gasped and shook his head, and the Hat sighed.

 

 

“Gryffindor!” Sam looked incredibly relieved and still quite shaken when the Sorting Hat called out. Where Dean had been outed as a Gryffindor the moment the hat touched his head, the Hat seemed very reluctant to send him to the same house.

 

 

Red faced and mortified, Sam speed walked to their table where he searched desperately for a seat. He found one amidst a group of third year girls. On the other side of the aisle, at the Slytherin table, Dean saw Lilith Masters turn and give him a lingering glance from her seat by Ruby.

 

 

Finally, after one more Ravenclaw and one more Hufflepuff, the sorting was over. Gilda took the hat and Lucifer took the stool and they disappeared behind a door that appeared in the wall for them and faded out of sight as it was closed.

 

 

“You think there are any we can use for Quidditch?” Nick asked Dean as Professor Campbell resumed his grueling yammer.

 

 

“Uh, I don't know. Sam's an okay flier, but it's hard to tell. Besides, they wouldn't even start 'til next year anyways,” Dean pointed out.

 

 

“Oh, I guess Eliot didn't tell you,” Benny said. “While you all and the sixth year prefects were getting all cozy, Eliot gathered the rest of the team. He wants to have a couple of possible recruits start training alongside us so that they're already good next year.”

 

 

“But he won't even be here,” Dorothy pointed out from across the table.

 

 

“No, but there are rumors that he's being considered by some scouts. It would look really good for him to have started something like that,” Nick said.

 

 

“That would be really cool,” Dean said. “Sam will be a good Chaser when he grows a bit.”

 

 

“How about the tiny one?” Anna asked, joining the conversation as Professor Campbell droned on and on so much that even the nerds were growing restless. “If Dorothy hits a growth spurt, that girl sitting by Tessa would be a good pick. She looks really lithe.”

 

 

“An apprentice. How wonderful,” Dorothy said. “Maybe we should be prepared, you know, just in case I grow a lot, and start practicing some Chaser moves.”

 

 

“Sounds good to me,” Benny said, nodding. “We'll have to run everything by Eliot, of course, but-”

 

 

“Shut up, jocks, he's about to do the thing with the food,” said a sixth year boy next to Anna. Dean grinned. He had missed the abundance of luscious meals at Hogwarts over the summer. His father always left meals up to Dean when he was home, forgetting about feeding his sons to the point that Dean often owled home vitamin rich food so that Sammy would at least get some nutrition in his diet.

 

 

Professor Campbell finally stopped talking and the feast began. The Hall erupted with chatter as the platters filled with food. Dean's mouth watered as he took in the spread. It was a really random assortment of food, exhibit A being the contrast of an elegant Yorkshire pudding directly in front of him and a tureen of pad thai next to it. In his first year, a bunch of older students had petitioned to get a more internationally friendly assortment, rather than the Western dishes that were the usual fare. Dean could see sushi, lamb curry, American Indian fry bread, _balut_ , quiches, egg rolls, matzoh ball soup, haggis, and all sorts of exotic flavors side by side with roast turkeys, glazed ducks, steaks, chicken legs, dinner rolls, pork chops, salmon fillets, shepherd's pie......

 

 

God, he was hungry.

 

 

He began to heap delicacies on to his plate, starting off with things he recognized and then going for anything that looked or smelled good. Italian sausages mingled with mashed potatoes; the corner of a dinner roll was plopped into a pile of _mataar paneer._

 

 

 

It was amazing how good the feast food tasted after a summer of cheap mac 'n' cheese and drive-thru dinners, freezer burned fish sticks and bland cereal. He gorged himself, eating bite after bite of gourmet foods.

 

 

“Hey, Winchester, I dare you to have some of this,” Dorothy said, a mischievous glint in her eyes. Never one to back away from a challenge, Dean took a large helping of the proffered meat loaf, not seeing the issue.

 

 

It was a little weird, not like any meat loaf he had ever tried before, a more earthy, heady flavor. It was pretty good.

 

 

“Bam. Done,” Dean said proudly. The people around him snickered and he looked at them. “Why? What did you do to it?”

 

 

“Nothing, I didn't touch it,” Dorothy assured him sincerely.

 

 

“You didn't mess with the meat loaf?”

 

 

“No, brother,” Benny said mirthfully. “None of us sabotaged that haggis.”

 

 

“Oh, _god_ , ew,” Dean said. “That's the one with the brains and the stomachs and the intestines and the spleens-”

 

 

“For the love of Merlin, Potter, Dumbledore, and Oz,” Dorothy muttered, rolling her eyes. “You're such a little girl.”

 

* * *

 

 

It was only five hours later, after all of the commotion had died down (nobody told Eliot, Dean or Tessa the password to the Gryffindor common room, so they had to extract it, via painting of a homing pigeon, from Old Soup. It was _amonthe_ , which was apparently some rare plant with aphrodisiac powers) that Dean got a chance to corner Sammy.

 

 

The fire crackled, homey and warm, as more and more Gryffindors headed to their rooms after such a long day.

 

 

“Uh uh uh, Sammy,” Dean said, smirking, as Sam tried to escape unnoticed to the first year boys' dormitory. Sam flinched and reluctantly came over to sit in the antique red leather wing back chair beside Dean. He stared into the fire.

 

 

“Hi,” he said simply.

 

 

“So, Hogwarts,” Dean said, not wanting to bring up the Sorting Hat's ceremony right away in case Sam just shut down and stopped talking to him.

 

 

“It's so big,” Sam said. Dean resisted the temptation to make a lewd joke.

 

 

“It's a lot to take in, huh,” he said.

 

 

After Mary Winchester's death, John was visited by a couple of Aurors inspecting the case, a special task force assembled to counteract the purist attacks. According to Bobby- Professor Singer- one of the Aurors by the name of Harvelle had taken notice of the stunned boys shivering outside while his colleagues inspected the house and put an end to the fiery dragons. Bobby told him later that Sam had begun to wail and thrash, to the point where the young Dean had been unable to grasp him any longer. Then, the telltale moment arrived: Sam had plummeted down towards the ground, but froze in mid-air, hovering, before he could be injured. Harvelle had seen the entire thing and finally went to investigate the two children. It was determined by the Ministry that they both had incredibly powerful magic in them. It was an unprecedented situation, Muggle born wizards discovered in their formative years, rather than coming to light around their eleventh birthdays. Bobby Singer began to coach the boys and John in basic magic, just enough that they weren't projecting their grief and trauma, through magic, onto the world. Dean seemed to be able to come and go almost anywhere without anyone noticing, a great advantage for feeding himself and Sam, while the younger boy had a bad habit of telekinesis, levitating objects and himself, freaking out any Muggle who saw. Dean remembered whispers of power transfers from whoever cast the spell, apparently it had happened before the War: an extremely powerful dark wizard attempting to assassinate a child, but the mother's sacrifice leaving a sort of shield around the child so that the magic was deflected back onto the dark wizard, and some of the residual magic energy gave the child powers. Or something. Dean just remembered a lot of times where they asked him and Sam to make friends with snakes or concentrate on becoming an animal. John, as the years went by, lost sight of his love, clouded by the drive for revenge. He trained the boys relentlessly, honing their skills at an illegally young age while teaching himself all about magic. So, Sam and Dean Winchester had grown up with a foot in each world, seeing wonders and spectacles as they 'trained', but being forced to watch as John grew more and more distanced, less caring, crumbling to his grief. Then, Dean left for Hogwarts and a real education, chosen by an exceedingly rare and extraordinarily powerful wand, Sam trying his hardest to be normal. Seeing so much neutral magic, rather than evil or protectionary, had left Dean shell shocked and it was likely to be even worse for Sam, whose world and morals were so black and white it belonged in 1930s cinema.

 

 

“Yeah,” Sam said finally, bringing Dean and his thoughts back to the moment at present.

 

 

“Told you you're a wizard,” the older boy teased gently.

 

 

Sam didn't respond.

 

 

“Yo, prefect boy, I'm going to sleep, so if you aren't quiet I'll sic Benny on you,” Nick Monroe called from the door of their room.

 

 

“All right,” Dean responded absently. Quieter, he asked, “Sam? Hey, what's wrong? Is it the Hat?”

 

 

“Mm hmm,” Sam said, nodding slightly.

 

 

“What did the Hat tell you?” Dean asked. He rarely ever saw Sam so withdrawn. Usually the little nerd was asking questions left and right, sticking his grubby little paws out to investigate everything he laid eyes on. The younger Winchester didn't even flinch when a ghost wandered through the walls, muttering something about full moons and Hogsmeade and marauders.

 

 

“The Hat, like, gasped loudly when I put it on, like I had broken it or something, and it was quiet for a really, really long time.”

 

 

“And then what?” Dean coaxed softly.

 

 

“Then....” Sam trailed off, eyes filled with apprehension. “Then, I felt this, this _digging_ , in my brain, like there was something trying to burrow in, and I remembered feeling something like that before, when I was little, and they did all of those tests, remember?”

 

 

“Yeah, buddy, I remember. They did all of those things to me, too.”

 

 

“So I pushed the thing out of my brain, and the Hat said, 'you have great power, child, are you a descendant of any of the old wizarding lineages?' and I thought, 'no, I'm a mud-”

 

 

“Watch your mouth,” Dean chastised. It was one thing for _him_ to use self depreciating humor, it was another for Sam to start feeling abnormal.

 

 

“I told the Hat that I was from Muggle parentage, and then it didn't say anything for a long time, and I felt the digging again, but I, sort of, like, I don't know, clenched my brain?”

 

 

“Clenched...your brain?” Dean repeated.

 

 

“I don't know, I, like, made it stop with the power of the Force.” Sam huffed, but Dean could tell that he was worried rather than angry as he crossed his arms over his chest defensively.

 

 

“Great power you have,” Dean said in his very best Yoda voice.

 

 

“And then I pushed so hard that I felt something, like the sensation when a hair breaks, not like getting pulled out, but breaking, and all I could think of was the word 'Slytherin' again and again and again, and then I felt this intense shock, and then rage, and then it dug into my brain so hard, like it was really searching for something, and then it began to talk again: 'Winchester. How interesting. There is great tragedy in your family' and suddenly it was like the pressure was gone and the Hat was calm. Then, it said 'I placed your brother in Gryffindor, House of heroes, for he reminded me of a boy I sorted long, long ago, who was stuck in between Slytherin and Gryffindor', and then it reminisced about the War and I guess that boy like saved everyone? Then it said 'Samuel, you have great potential for both good and evil' and I got annoyed that it called me Samuel. 'Ravenclaw', the Hat suggested, 'could do many favors for you, but you would not truly thrive with only quills and never wands'.”

 

 

“And then what?” Dean asked after Sam was quiet for a while.

 

“Then it said I was skilled in something with a really long name, but though Slytherin was my true home, my parents did not practice magic, so Salazar would be angry, and it eliminated the possibility of both Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw, leaving the only choice left Gryffindor, but, Dean.....”

 

 

“It's okay, I won't get mad,” Dean assured his younger brother.

 

 

“It told me that none of the Houses really fit, and something about a prophecy, and then it said, 'Gryffindor, if you must', and then it was over and everyone cheered at the Gryffindor table and then there was food and everyone was telling me and Marin and the other first years all about everything at once and then there were all of those portraits and then I saw this girl and boy playing- Dean, have you seen Wizard Chess sets? They legitimately move around and talk. It's amazing! Oh, and a ghost talked to me, some guy whose head, like, fell off most of the way and then stopped and I asked about it and he told me the coolest story-”

 

 

“Okay, okay, Sammy, I get it,” Dean said, rolling his eyes.

 

 

“So, why did some guy named Eliot with a prefect badge poke me and tell me that I was being watched carefully?”

 

 

“Oh my god, Sam, just wait until you see Quidditch, it's so cool! Much cooler than one guy on a broom stick.”

 

 

All foreboding pushed aside, the brothers chattered and joked long into the night, so glad to be together at Hogwarts at last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What am I even doing omg this fic is literally dripping out of my brain and through my fingers and onto the computer aaaaaaaahahahhahahahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh


	4. Owl Post

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean runs into an old.....friend.....during an early morning visit to the Owlery. Then, they get their schedules.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so, please excuse the lack of formatting and heavy dialogue of this chapter. I wrote it on my iPhone. Finals are in full swing!!!! UGHGHGHGH

The next morning, Dean woke to the thumping of someone's suitcase.

 

“Benny, what are you doing?” Nick mumbled from his bed. The amount of fifth year Gryffindors who also happened to be male was so few that the three of them had a room to themselves.

 

“I want to get up to the Owlery before breakfast so there's still some owls to deliver my letter.”

 

“You can use mine,” Nick said. “She's probably aching to take a flight.”

 

“Siren?” Dean asked. Nick was the only one of the three with his own owl.

 

“The one and only.”

 

“Cool. Dean, you want to come with me?”

 

“Uh, sure, let me just get my shoes on.”

 

They dressed in their robes, grabbing their wands. Nick grumbled and went back to sleep. The common room was nearly deserted, everyone either up and meeting up with friends in other Houses or snoozing because they had done all of their catching up the night before. A boy Dean recognized from the Sorting ceremony was writing a letter, quill scratching angrily across his parchment. Dean still preferred the more 'primitive' method- ballpoint pens. It was all too easy to spill ink, and quills were incredibly susceptible to charms. Only Muggle borns who weren't ashamed of their heritage used pens, because Slytherins and numerous other students loved to make fun of things like that. Dean didn't care; might as well have the best of both worlds, like Apparation and butterbeer alongside rock music and envelopes that shut without molten wax seals.

 

The Owlery had recently been charmed to repel all animal waste, and it was grossly fascinating to watch the bird poo sizzle and dissolve after living in the Muggle world for a summer.

 

“Anyone ever tell you that you're awfully strange?” Benny asked, rolling his eyes, as he coaxed Siren down from her perch with some oats he had summoned from somewhere.

 

“Do you ever, like, want to eat the owls?” Dean asked absentmindedly. Benny stiffened at the blatant shift in conversation and the uncomfortable taboo, but he recovered quickly.

 

“Naw. That would be like spendin' hours drivin' to someone's house for dinner only to find that they're servin' you a mint,” Benny said.

 

“What?”

 

“Why take the life of something functional only for an aperitif?”

 

“That metaphor didn't work,” Dean said, batting off an owl who was circling him.

 

“Whatever, brother. Anyways, the donor program keeps the most of us sated.”

 

“Doesn't it bother you? Not knowing who your meal came from?”

 

“It's freeing,” Benny said seriously, attaching his letter to Siren and carrying her over to the window, gazing out at the grounds as she soared away, watching her wings.

 

Behind them, energetic footsteps were bounding up the stairs, echoing off of the tower walls. They shut down the touchy conversation quickly and stood awkwardly. Benny stroked a friendly Salem Brown Owl as it hooted and murmured softly.

 

“I should get an owl,” Dean mused. “Maybe I'll get one for Sam and I to use.”

 

“I was thinking about heading over to Lovegood's at some point for some Protein Pill-bugs for my toad. Maybe next Hogsmeade visit?”

 

“Lovegood's?” Dean repeated. He was familiar with some of the more mainstream locations in the little town, but he had never heard of whatever Benny was talking about.

 

“A magical pet store,” Benny supplied. “They carry everything for every pet you can think of.”

 

“I'll ask Sam what he thinks at breakfast.”

 

The footsteps stopped short at the door, and Dean turned around to see what was holding the person up. When he caught sight of the long, braided hair, delicate features, and yellow Hufflepuff robes, he let out a few select Muggle explicatives .

 

“Risa,” Dean said, trying not to grit his teeth. Benny chuckled low and deep, making sure only Dean could hear them.

 

“Dean,” Risa said, just as coldly as Dean's greeting.

 

Risa was a fourth year, one below Dean, but she had been in a few of his specialty classes, when they were first introduced three year by the Head of School, designed to 'unite and unify'. They were mixed house, mixed year, short classes that pupils could choose based on their interests. Most of them were a joke, like Rufus Turner, the grounds keeper, and his 'nature walks'. Dean and Risa had both enrolled in a defense course for some of the more obscure magical monsters. They began dating towards the end of the year and the break-up had been messy when Dean didn't want to do a long distance thing.

 

“How was your summer?” Dean asked politely.

 

“Fine, thank you,” Risa returned in a clipped tone. “Mind moving out of my way so I can get to Croat?”

 

“Croat?” Dean asked, confused.

 

“My owl, dumb ass,”

 

“Oh. Okay.” Dean felt stupid, and Benny's snickers were hardly disguised. The two fifth years left as Risa crooned to her barn owl.

 

“Croat. What a stupid name,” Dean muttered as they made their way to the Great Hall.

 

“Ready to get your schedule?” Benny asked. Of course, they already knew what classes they were going to take, but what really mattered was when, what days, and which House they would be with.

 

“Hell yeah.” Dean said.

 

As the last few students trickled in, yawning and smiling at their friends, a breakfast of _pan au chocolat_ and eggs Benedict appeared. Dean dug in, moaning obscenely at the taste of the warm, melty chocolate encased in delicate, golden pastry. Benny went to retrieve his own fare from a seventh year Slytherin who was in charge of getting nourishment to the younger vampires. It was a much better system than the one in their first and second years, where vampires had to go and get their meals from the nurse, ensuring that everyone knew exactly who the vampires were and thus inviting bullying.

 

“Bastard,” Benny was muttering under his breath when he returned with his elegant flask full of a dark fluid that Dean really didn't care to think about. Benny had chosen to eat human food last night, and he was looking pale and a little ill from going without.

 

“What?” Dean asked.

 

“Aleph. The blood banker.”

 

“Oh. What happened?”

 

“He didn't want to give me any.”

 

“I'm surprised he counts as a Slytherin,” Dean said, glaring daggers at the dark-skinned vampire.

 

“He's pure blood,” Benny shrugged.

 

“What kind of name is 'Vamp', anyways, for a vampire?” Dean asked. Benny glowered.

 

“They think that their family was the first vampire bloodline.” Benny said, expression sour as he angrily sipped from his tungsten flask.

 

“He hardly looks Romanian,” Dean said.

 

“Whatever. I hope that line dies out,” Benny said icily, such a deviation from his usual easygoing self that Dean did a double-take. He realized that Benny didn't consider vampire heritage a thing to be proud of, and someone who chose to broadcast the fact that their family supposedly started the entire bloody lineage must anger him to no end.

 

“How many of 'em are left?” Dean asked through a mouthful of _pan au chocolat_.

 

“You're looking at him,” Benny said. “Well, there are dozens, but most of us want nothin' to do with them.”

 

“He's the last pure one?”

 

“Yep. But tons of us are descended. My grandfather was one of them.”

 

Dean raised an eyebrow at him. Being muddied would have to be another huge factor in Aleph's torment. Benny shrugged, looking away, pretending to be interested as Andrea braided a blue gingham ribbon into Dorothy's hair a few seats over.

 

A little while later, the Great Hall was filled with flapping wings, stray feathers, brown parcels, and the awed noises from the first year students. Dean grinned as two fluffy little pigmy owls dropped off their schedules and flew off.

 

“I wonder what we have today,” Benny said. Dean 'hmm'ed, too occupied with tearing the Hogwarts seal off of his to pay much attention.

 

Mondays started off with History of Magic, taught by Professor Harvelle, the fifth year Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs paired together. Next, they were paired with Slytherin, up in the general Ravenclaw vicinity with Professor Mills, who taught Charms and headed the intellectually inclined House. Then there was an hour long study hall for all of the fifth years to go to the library for O. W. L. preparation. After lunch, they were with Ravenclaw out on the grounds for Care of Magical Creatures with the new professor, Tessa's father, and then Transfiguration with Hufflepuffs. After that, Benny had a study period but Dean was due for Ancient Runes Level I with whoever happened to enroll. Nick and Benny had chirped him for his interest, but Dean thought it might look good when employers were looking at his grades. Then they were off until dinner.

 

“Yo losers,” Nick said, coming up beside them. Eliot wants to talk Quidditch before first class.”

 

They followed Nick to the end of the Gryffindor table, where Eliot and Anna Milton were talking about a new Beater formation. Dorothy scampered up after a minute, stuffing her new schedule in her robe pocket.

 

“All right, guys,” said the captain. “Before we can start practices, we need to recruit a new Chaser, now that Winchester's a Beater.”

 

“So, Eliot and I were thinking of holding tryouts tonight,” Anna said. “I've cleared it up with Old Soup, apparently we were the first to claim a night.”

 

“Tryouts already?” Dean asked. “Like, on the first day?”

 

“Yep,” Nick said. “We want to start training straight away.”

 

“Christ,” Dean muttered under his breath. He was exhausted. “What time?”

 

“I don't know. Like, maybe an hour after dinner? It'll still be light out.”

 

“Cool. But I got to run,” Dorothy said. “I have Potions right now and I need my cauldron.”

 

“Ready for the first day of classes?” Benny asked Dean after the rest of the Gryffindor Quidditch team had dispersed. Dean shrugged.

 

“Ready as I'll ever be, I guess,” he replied. They walked to class together, buzzing with the excitement of a brand new year and all of the adventures it promised.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Aleph Vamp is the Alpha vampire. I think Aleph is a name in some sort of culture somewhere. I couldn't just call him Alpha. And I forgot his name. #yolo
> 
>  
> 
> Wheeeeeee got some Dean & Cas in the next chaptah


	5. History of Magic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> History of Magic. Short chapter is short.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well......it's history of magic class.....#yolo
> 
> anyhoo I was going to make this one long chapter but it's finals season so who knows when I'll next be able to update so I decided to just upload what I had even though it's kinda short.

History of Magic was no one's favorite subject. Dean, personally, would rather undergo a vicious bout of Rhodesian Ringworm than have to take another year of learning the differences between Septus the Salacious and Siobhan the Suspicious. But he didn't mind being paired with the Hufflepuff fifth years. In fact, they were probably his favorite group to be taught with. Ravenclaws were, for the most part, obnoxious know it alls. And Slytherins were downright caustic. Hufflepuffs were genial and amiable. Dean decided to take a seat by the window as the rest of the students filed in. Dean nodded hello to Garth Fitzgerald the Somethingth as he walked by.

“Hey, Dean, how was your summer?” Garth asked.

“Good, thanks,” Dean replied automatically as the tiny Hufflepuff took his place beside one of his House mates, a tired-looking boy named Eric or something. Aaron, that was it. He exchanged friendly smiles with Amy Pond, the Hufflepuff prefect, as she sat down near a pretty girl named Ava. A pair of goofy dudes who were always together (Dean probably wasn't the only one of the impression that they were together together) sat at a desk near a gaggle of others who, very tastelessly, called themselves the Ghostfacers because of their experience with some ghosts on their first day at the school. Dean thought it was highly disrespectful that they made light of ghosts who, despite being creepy and often irritating, were sentient beings.

“Winchester!” Dean smiled as the other seat at his desk was occupied by Jo Harvelle, possibly his best friend outside of Gryffindor. They shared a friendly rivalry in all of their classes and Dean often found himself wishing that she had been sorted into Gryffindor. But, her father was apparently a Hufflepuff in his day, and Dean had no idea about her mother. Her mother, who happened to be the History of Magic professor. Dean had never had History of Magic classes with Hufflepuff before, but he was curious to see the mother/daughter dynamic in play. Professor Harvelle was a hard-ass, but a really good teacher nonetheless. Usually, they were paired with Slytherin in History of Magic, and the kids in that house tended to be very smug. They had grown up hearing about these figures and events, whereas the Muggle borns heard about World War I and II in place of the Battle of Hogwarts and other similar events.

“Hey, Jo!” Dean leaned in conspiratorially. “So, if your mom is the professor, does that mean she will go easy on us?”

“Ha, you wish. If anything, it's the opposite.” Jo smirked. “She tries so hard not to play favorites that she ends up treating us like professors ourselves. The Ravenclaws who're usually paired with us say that it's much worse than when they're with you guys.”

“Ugh. I can't freakin' wait,” Dean said, rolling his eyes, as he scattered his pens out across his desk, some of them skittering to the floor. Jo rolled her eyes.

“Wingardium leviosa,” she said, and the other pens jumped back into his bag.

After a little while, Professor Harvelle entered the room. All of the fifth years' chatter died down and Jo waved cheerily at her mom who rolled her eyes.

“Ah. Fifth years. My favorite,” she said. “You're all still required to take this class but none of you want to be here.” Professor Harvelle walked over to the chalk board and, still facing the class, flicked her wand, sending the chalk aflight behind her. “O. W. L. year, for you guys, is going to be difficult. Samuel Campbell, who, as you all know, likes to switch things up sometimes, has decided that History of Magic needs to be 'rigorous' and 'invigorating'. I do not know if he has ever seen our curriculum.”

A couple of kids giggled.

“Professor Harvelle?” A rather mouthy Hufflepuff named Spangler (or Zeddmore, Dean could never tell) raised his hand tentatively.

“Shoot,” she said.

“What are we going to be learning this year?”

“Well, I was planning on telling you, but, uh, since raising your hand was so very important, congratulations, you have wasted my time. We will start in the era of Merlin and then, in the second term, review the more, uh, recent years, such as the war with the guy who is in far too many ballads despite the inability to rhyme his name to anything logical- Voldemort.”

The rest of the class consisted of an outline of what to expect during their O. W. L. course and general expectations which, despite the best intentions of the teachers, never really fluctuated. Dean scribbled down the homework assignment, sighing. It was going to be a long year.

**Author's Note:**

> 'du Seigneur' means 'of the lord'.


End file.
